She held hope in her dirty arms.
Each step she took in her muddy shoes
went forward, went toward
a future.  Away from trash,
stench, corpses, blood,
from that ungodly gloom.

She had to, so she swam,
fought, scavenged,
cursed the desperate crime,
and sang to the babes
who cried and tried
to break her hold.
She was strong long
enough to wait
and wait and wait.

She will wear charity
and eat church dinners.
Her history, her dignity
sustain her lonely mind.
Yes, she did almost forget
on day four, day five
who she was, who you were
but her weary arms held

hope and she stayed alive.